"Wait...what?" Neville blurted upon crossing the fire. "It really was Quirrell? Damn, now I owe the Weasley Twins money."
"You were betting on who was out to kill me?" Harry asked. "Isn't that a bit...morbid?"
"Oh, like you're one to talk. You bring up your 'facial disfigurement' as you call it every chance you get," Neville pointed out.
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well everyone seems to love talking about it, so I figure I was doing them a favor. And at least the Weasley Twins had faith in me!"
Before Neville could answer, Quirrell spoke. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter. I must say, I didn't expect to see Longbottom, though."
Harry looked confused. "Why were you wondering whether you'd see me? I'm bloody eleven; I really should have more sense than to go after a fully-trained wizard who wants to kill me armed only with some of my first-year classmates." Although if he were really eleven, it probably wouldn't have occurred to him to force an adult to listen after getting the brush-off from McGonagall. God knows it hadn't last time. He really should have been more specific about WHY he thought the Stone was in danger.
"Gee, I don't know," Quirrell said sarcastically. "Could it be the fact that every time I face away from you, you insist that your scar is on fire?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer and then abruptly closed it again. "Fair point," he conceded.
"I must say, I didn't honestly expect you to figure it out considering Severus seems so much the type. I mean, who in their right mind would suspect me, p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell when that overgrown bat was swooping around."
"I would."
"Um, Harry? I believe the question was 'who in their right mind'," Neville reminded him.
"Oh, right. But maybe I wouldn't have figured it out if you didn't have bloody Tom Riddle on the back of your head."
This was news to all present. Neville had no idea what Harry was talking about in the slightest, Quirrell had no idea who Tom Riddle was, and Tom Riddle had no idea how Harry knew that that was his real name and not Voldemort.
Quirrell evidently decided not to ask and snapped his fingers, tying both Neville and Harry up. Harry cursed himself for forgetting about that and focused on trying to remove the ropes without his wand. He could do it if he had enough time, but he'd need to concentrate.
In the meantime, Quirrell took the opportunity to mutter to himself about how to find the stone.
Suddenly, Voldemort said, "Use the boy...use the boy..."
Neville started. "Would that be Tom Riddle?" he whispered.
Harry merely nodded.
Quirrell rounded on Harry. "Yes – Potter – come here." He undid the ropes surrounding Harry and bade him to look in the mirror.
Unlike the last time when Harry had thought the Stone would be safer in his pocket than in the enchanted mirror that Quirrell couldn't figure out and was frustrated and desperate enough to rely on a child to get it, Harry didn't actually want the stone.
"Well?" Quirrell asked impatiently. "What do you see?"
"I see my family," Harry paused. "Again. Seriously, people, this isn't going to change so stop asking."
"You don't see the stone?" Quirrell asked, disappointed and a little skeptical.
"Why would I want the Stone?" Harry challenged. "It's seems safe enough where it is."
As Harry began to discretely inch away from Quirrell, Voldemort spoke again. "The other boy has it..."
Harry froze. "Dammit!" He really should have mentioned that looking in the mirror was a bad idea.
Quirrell started towards Neville, who, for his part, looked terrified.
"Let me speak to them...face to face..." Voldemort decided.
While Quirrell was making his cursory protest and doing what Voldemort wanted anyway, Harry wandlessly and silently managed to free Neville.
"Ah!" Neville yelped, at seeing the face of Voldemort for the first time.
Harry was calmer. He knew that he could handle Voldemort as he was now, he just wasn't sure about Neville.
"Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. How ironic that it should be the two of you standing here together to face me. Ironic, yet fitting."
"Tom Riddle. I'm fairly certain you're a pedophile."
Neville nearly choked. He didn't quite know who this was, but he had a nagging feeling that he should.
"You dare..." Voldemort began angrily, although whether he was more upset by the use of his real name or by Harry's accusation, it was hard to say.
"Yeah, I do, let's just skip the part where you're offended I know your name get on with it, shall we?" Harry suggested.
Voldemort was silent for a moment. Then he said, "There was a prophecy, you know."
Harry tensed. What was Voldemort trying to do here? He hadn't said anything of the sort when Harry had first met him before. Was it because of Neville's presence?
"The prophecy told me that there would be a boy born at the end of July whose parents had defied me three times who would stop me. That could have applied to either of you. I chose to attack Harry here and he did indeed stop me. Temporarily. Prophecy fulfilled. So you see, there really is no reason for me to kill you, or your friend for that matter, Neville. Just give me the Stone in your pocket and you have my word that I shall not harm either of you."
"The word of a liar and a murderer," Harry snapped.
"Y-You," Neville swallowed hard. "You destroyed my parents' minds!"
"That wasn't me, Neville, that happened after I was gone. Bellatrix Lestrange, always one of my most faithful if...misguided followers, thought that your parents, as prominent Aurors and widely known to be close to that puppet-master Dumbledore, would know what had happened. I do not condone their actions and I will make them suffer for taking your parents from you, Neville. Just say the word, give me the stone and your parents will be avenged."
Neville was shaking uncontrollably now. "Y-You could have just as easily attacked me and killed MY parents."
"But I didn't," Voldemort's voice was soft, persuasive. "I went after Harry because I didn't want to spill any Pureblood blood unnecessarily in case I chose wrong. Noble Pureblood children such as yourself are the future, dear Neville. Driving your parents into insanity was such a waste; they were a fine witch and wizard. Once I'm restored, I will rectify every case of worthy Purebloods such as your parents losing everything but their life. I can give you back your parents. Just give me the stone."
Neville was quiet for a long moment. "N-No...I...No."
Before Voldemort could process Neville's refusal, Harry seized the opportunity and leapt at Quirrell, pressing his hands to the man's face.
The pain in Harry's scar was so intense that Harry couldn't see. He knew he should probably have interceded before now, but, somewhat like Dumbledore, he wanted to give Neville an opportunity to deal face Voldemort and figured that refusing to give in to Voldemort even when he was promising everything would do wonders for Neville's still-struggling self-esteem.
Just as Harry was about to pass out, he heard "Reducto!" and Quirrell went still.
He looked up and saw Neville, eyes wide, lower his wand.
----
"Oh Harry! Neville!" Hermione cried the minute they exited the corridor. For lack of any better ideas, they had simply rode Harry's broom up through the trapdoor. She immediately hugged them both.
"Hey, Hermione," Harry said weakly. "Did you find Professor Dumbledore?"
"Indeed she did," Dumbledore spoke up from behind Harry. How did he-? It was best not to ask. "Now, I'm sure you have many questions for me and I know I have a few for you, but first why don't we get you all to the Hospital Wing?"
----
When Madame Pomfrey was done tending to them and Ron and Hermione sent on their way, Dumbledore returned.
"You should probably give Professor Dumbledore the Philosopher's Stone," Harry started things off by suggesting.
Neville's eyes widened. "Oh right! I had completely forgotten about that..."
"Indeed," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "You must have had a lot of excitement down there."
Harry snorted. "Well, that's one word for it."
"I killed Professor Quirrell." Silence followed that declaration and Neville just stared down at his hospital bed, clutching at the sheets. He hadn't been discharged because he hadn't stopped shaking once they reached the Hospital Wing.
"What happened?" Dumbledore's tone was grave.
Sensing Neville probably didn't want to talk about it, Harry took a deep breath and began. "Quirrell was after the Stone. Ron was taken by the Queen in the Chess match we were playing and there was only enough of the potion to get us through the flames to see Quirrell for two people, so Hermione went back to Ron. The Mirror of Erised was there and Quirrell tried to use me to get the Stone, but I didn't really want it and so Neville, who apparently wanted to get but not use the Stone, managed to get it instead. This caused Quirrell to unwrap his turban and reveal that he had Voldemort on the back of his head. Voldemort...he promised Neville his parents back if he just handed over the Stone. Neville said no. Voldemort was going to attack Neville so I used my mother's-sacrifice-magical-love-protection to burn Quirrell's face and right when I was about to collapse from magical exhaustion, Neville fired a Reducto at him."
"I killed him," Neville said again.
"Quirrell was already dead," Dumbledore told him gently. "He was dead the minute he allowed Voldemort to take up residence in his body. He would have died anyway the minute Voldemort left him, which he would have done tonight, regardless of if he took the Stone from you and crafted himself a new body or if he failed and decided that poor Quirinus had outlived his usefulness."
"So it's not my fault?" Neville sounded dubious.
"No, it's not," Harry agreed. He knew that it would take awhile for it to truly sink in and he wished that it hadn't had to happen this way, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He honestly hadn't expected Neville to attack Quirrell while he was burning him with his touch. "So, what's going to happen to the Stone now?" Harry asked, to change the subject onto less depressing matters.
Dumbledore then proceeded to explain how the Flamel's were all set to die now, but it was okay because they were really old anyway. So, maybe it was only slightly less depressing.
"Do you have any more questions?" Dumbledore asked genially.
"Well, Voldemort did say one interesting thing I was hoping you could explain," Harry said innocently.
Dumbledore nodded, indicating that he should continue.
"Apparently there was some sort of a prophecy about Neville and I that caused him to come after me," Harry said slowly, enjoying the sight of all the color draining out of Dumbledore's face. "Something about me being the only one to stop him?"
"I...did not intend for you to find out like this," Dumbledore said at last, sighing. "And especially not at such a young age. I had hoped...But alas, what's done is done, I suppose, and there is no use lamenting the fact. I wish I had a Pensieve with me, but I do not so I will to simply tell you the Prophecy: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...And either must die at the had of the other for neither can live while the other survives."
"And that could mean either me or Harry?" Neville asked, looking faint.
"Alas, no, the Prophecy is about Harry. When Voldemort chose to go after Harry and gave him his scar, he marked him and made the Prophecy about him," Dumbledore replied.
Neville tried not to look too relieved as he realized it would not probably be up to Harry to stop Voldemort.
"Um, sir? You realize that I'm eleven, right? And not really the most responsible person around? And you really shouldn't expect me to be the only one who can kill him?"
"I wouldn't dream of expecting anything from you for a few years yet. And, in fact, I cannot make you do anything. On the other hand, by the time that you come face to face with Voldemort for the last time, knowing he wants to kill you, knowing he has killed or tried to kill countless others, you may very well decide that killing him would be for the best. Certainly if he regains a body and does not stop hunting you, chances are very good that either of you will die at the hand of the other."
----
Harry walked to the leaving feast with a heavy heart. Sure Hagrid had gotten him a scrapbook filled with pictures of his parents, he'd spent all night at the impromptu 'We're Graduating' Party the Seventh Years threw (at Tonks' insistence as he didn't really know the other Seventh Years very well), and he'd get to see Ginny again soon. On the other hand, Gryffindor had indeed won the House Cup this year, despite his best efforts to the contrary.
Harry tried his best to appear depressed when Dumbledore announced that Gryffindor was in the lead. On the bright side, this meant no need for last second points.
"Recent events must be taken into account," Dumbledore continued. Harry groaned. Of course they must. Dumbledore awarded Ron fifty points for the 'best-played game of chess Hogwarts had ever seen' despite the fact that there was really no objective way to measure something like that, Hermione fifty points for not poisoning herself or her classmates, Neville fifty points for lighting a rare and valuable plant on fire, and Harry got sixty points for not telling a responsible adult about Quirrell's attempt to steal the stone and for endangering several of his classmates. Of course, Dumbledore might have phrased it slightly differently, but it was still blatant favoritism.
Harry started banging his head on the table and didn't stop until Percy got so annoyed he threatened to hex him. It really wouldn't do to get Percy in the habit of doing that as his refusal to do so was really the only reason why Harry was able to do some of his more public after-hours activities.
The celebration at the Gryffindor table over finally being the best sycophantic House got so annoying that halfway through the feast Harry got up and went to go sit by the Slytherins. He spent the rest of the feast commiserating with them and complaining about the blatant favoritism. Dumbledore, who couldn't hear what he was saying, smiled broadly at Harry's mature attitude of reaching out across House lines.
----
As the Hogwarts Express was pulling into the station, Harry was honestly glad that the train ride was over, for the first time in his life. He, Ron, Hermione, and Neville had just sat back and let all of Harry's various acquaintances and Neville's Herbology friends come visit them throughout the train ride. Unfortunately, this had not stopped Hermione from pestering Harry about his exam results. So he made the highest first year grades since Dumbledore and was now being hailed as a prodigy (to both of their annoyances), it was really just the twelve year age advantage. After all, being and adult who had to sit through boring meetings and hold press conferences and regularly petition the Wizengamot meant that he officially had an attention span sufficient enough to pay attention in Binn's class so he even did well in History of Magic despite his blatant refusal to study. And that was why Hermione was convinced he either cheated or was holding back his brilliance all this time.
"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron. "All of you-I'll send you an owl. Oh, and by all I meant 'everyone but Malfoy and his goons'." Which just left Harry, Hermione, and Neville.
"Like I would even want to," Draco shot back. "My bedrooms bigger than your whole house!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Draco, remember what we talking about how it's not nice to stalk your father's political rivals? And that reminds me: This might be a weird question, but do you have a House Elf named Dobby?"
Draco nodded. "Now who's stalking who?"
"Um, you are. You're stalking Ron. We just talked about this. But anyway, the reason I asked is because you remember how my scar told me that Quirrell was out to kill me?"
Draco nodded uncertainly.
"Well, it also told me that you have a House Elf named Dobby who will steal all of my mail this summer, so if you could order him to leave my mail alone, that'd be great."
Draco shrugged. "Why not?"
Once they got off the train and lined up to go through the gates in small groups, Tonks came up to him, hair bubble-gum pink. "So I got accepted into the Auror Academy," she said. "And this is my celebratory hairstyle."
"So you're going to keep it like that?" Harry asked, amused.
"Yep. I'm going to keep it like this every time I'm not disguising myself for as long as I'm over the moon about this. I would have told you earlier, of course, but I was too busy hiding from Percy."
"Hiding from Percy? Why? He's like, the least threatening person ever," Harry pointed out.
"I know, I know, but he wanted to hear me go over NEWTS for the third time and ask how I thought he did during OWLS by regaling me with the fascinating tale of every little answer he put or spell he cast," Tonks complained.
"Sounds like Hermione," Ron said bluntly.
"Hey!"
"So isn't there ANYTHING I can do to get you to let me call you Nympha-I mean, you're first name," Harry hastily amended as Tonks glared at him.
"Nope, sorry."
"Oh come on! I'll give you my firstborn!" Harry promised.
Tonks laughed. "Aren't you a little young to be thinking about that kind of thing?"
Harry shrugged. By all estimates, he should be a dad by now. If it was a boy they'd name him James Sirius and if it was a girl they'd go with Lily Luna.
"Keep in touch, won't you?" Harry asked her as she was about to head through the barrier.
"Oh, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried," she told him as she disappeared.
When Harry and Ron went through, followed by Hermione and Neville, Harry heard quite a bit of gossip surrounding Draco Malfoy and the question Harry threw on his parentage at the beginning of the year. He snorted; he'd completely forgotten about that.
"There he is, Mum, there he is, look!" Ginny exclaimed, jumping up and down, the minute she saw Harry.
"Hi, Ginny, right?" Harry smiled at her.
"Y-yes," she said, looking anywhere but at him.
"You're going to Hogwarts next year, right?"
She merely nodded.
"I'll see you there, then. Oh, and Mrs. Weasley, I wanted to thank you for your very thoughtful Christmas present."
"Oh, it was nothing, dear," she assured him.
"Well, I'd better go," Harry said. "I think my Uncle might still be mad at me..."
"Since September?" Mrs. Weasley asked, shocked.
"Well, he did send me death threats at Christmas," Harry told her.
"Oh my..."
----
When Harry arrived at home, he saw a large black dog lying on the Dursley's front lawn as if waiting for him. Harry quickly stashed his stuff in his room (he might have threatened to turn Uncle Vernon blue if he tried to lock his school things away but did promise not to use any magic) and ran out to meet him.
"Hey boy," he greeted. "You look like you could use a walk. I'm going to the park. Come with me?"
The dog just cocked its head like it didn't understand, but consented to follow Harry. Once he reached the park–which was thankfully deserted– he sat down on one of the swings and looked straight at the dog.
"Well, well, Sirius. It's been awhile."